


Little Things

by thealpacalypse



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-26
Updated: 2012-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-22 12:45:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/609949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thealpacalypse/pseuds/thealpacalypse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the little things that show John Watson that he and Sherlock Holmes are <em>almost</em> in a relationship. What will he do about it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kritty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kritty/gifts).



> The first Johnlock fic I ever wrote. 
> 
> Thanks to my lovely beta **[Mary](http://randomlyfandom.tumblr.com/)**!

**Little Things**  
  
John Watson knows what people are talking about.  
About himself and Sherlock Holmes.  
John knows all the talk, and he knows that sooner or later in a conversation about him and Sherlock, somebody is going to mention the word ‘gay’.  
  
He also knows that this kind of talk used to embarrass him.  
Not because of the whole “gay thing”. Hell, his own sister is gay, why would he worry about that?  
No, maybe it was the age gap.  
Or maybe it was the fact that Sherlock is indeed gay and John himself is… well, kind of fascinated by Sherlock. In a strange, almost indescribable way.  
But the embarrassment is long gone and John decided to stop caring about what other people thought Sherlock and him might be doing alone in their flat.  
Anyway, there isn’t anything going on and there never will be.  
Probably.  
  
Except for the fact that Sherlock keeps scaring away all of John’s girlfriends.  
And then there are also the little things.  
John didn’t notice them at first.  
Like…  
Sherlock holding the door open for John, when usually he just walked through, and didn’t care who else was there.  
Sherlock cleaning up all the messes of his highly disturbing experiments without even complaining.  
Sherlock taking him out to dinner and paying for everything (not that it mattered – they shared a bank account).  
Or even Sherlock shutting up when John knew he was just about to say something really mean and sociopathic.  
  
“We’re acting like a couple”, John says one day when Sherlock comes back from a walk and brings him his favorite chocolate bar.  
“Who?” asks Sherlock innocently, peeling off his coat.  
John clears his throat. “You and I. Like we’re an item.”  
“Oh.” That’s everything Sherlock has to say about this undeniable fact before he turns to the newspaper and starts skipping through the pages.  
John knows this is a stupid question, but… “So, are we?”  
Sherlock’s judging stare pierces right through him over the edge of the newspaper. “Nooo…” He prolongs the word in a way that tells John that his question was in fact really, really stupid.  
But John doesn’t want to give up too easily.  
  
“Why not?” And that was the wrong question again. “I mean, what I want to say is: What’s the difference between us and any other couple, with you courting and wooing me all the time?”  
“I –  _what_?”  
This is the moment when John should be realising that he just made a fool of himself, and he should stop right now. But maybe he doesn’t see or he doesn’t care because the damage is already done.  
  
“You’re wooing me. You’re buying me dinner and bringing me my favorite sweets and you’re being nice. All the time. It’s almost as if we were dating. But without the dating part, of course.”  
Sherlock doesn’t even look at him this time – he just hides behind his newspaper when he replies: “You’re talking gibberish.”  
And finally John gets that this is the moment to shut up.  
  
He shouldn’t have mentioned those little things to Sherlock.  
Because for the next few days he stops doing them, stops being nice. As if he wanted to prove something. As if John wanted proof of anything.  
Sometimes though Sherlock can’t hold himself back: A quick smile, a meaningful look… John has to pay attention very closely, or otherwise he is going to miss these small signs. Or whatever they are.  
  
John himself meanwhile begins to understand what that says about them.  
Or more: About himself.  
Because he misses those nice gestures of Sherlock, not just because they were… you know, nice, but also because it made him feel special.  
And because every time he catches Sherlock smiling at him, he can’t help smiling back and blushing just the slightest bit.  
And most important, because he likes to think about themselves as a couple, and he likes it when other people think they are a couple.  
  
John always sees himself not as a man of many thoughts, but a man of words and deeds.  
  
So, one lazy Sunday afternoon when he sits on the couch and tries to ignore the annoying pictures and sounds of some stupid American game show on the television, he braces himself and asks: “Why aren’t we a couple?”  
Sherlock, this time hiding behind his laptop, frowns and huffs deeply. “Oh dear, you’re starting the gibberish talk again.”   
“It’s not gibberish, stop calling it that.” John takes a deep breath, and then he asks: “Should we go on a date?”  
Now Sherlock finally looks up and gives John a long, baffling look. “Are you asking me out?”  
John nods, then shakes his head. Then nods again. “I think so.”  
“Are you asking me out because you want to or because you think other people want us to?” Sherlock doesn’t take his eyes of John, which is a bit confusing.  
“Yes.”  
“John, I asked you an either/or question, you can’t answer it with ‘ _Yes’_.”  
John feels weird and puzzled, and like a school boy in front of a strict teacher, which isn’t right – it’s supposed to be the other way round because he is the older one here.  
“I mean… it’s just… oh bloody hell, just forget I brought it up and I will never mention it again.”  
But Sherlock still doesn’t take his damn eyes off of him. “No, no, it’s alright. Let’s go on a date.”  
  
They’ve done this hundreds of times:  
Going to a crappy Chinese restaurant just a few blocks away and ordering everything their current finances allowed while talking about cases and victims and crime scenes…  
But this is different.  
They don’t have a case right now.  
And this is not just any other “let’s grab something to eat”.  
This is a  _date_.  
  
John doesn’t know what to do.  
If this was a date with one of those girls who could become his next girlfriend, maybe this would be easier.  
John would ask her about her job and her family, he would politely laugh at her jokes and he would ask her what she thought about the place he took her and the food she ordered.  
But the person on the other side of the table is not just some random girl – it’s Sherlock, which makes things so much harder.  
Especially since Sherlock seems to have decided that staring at John and remaining silent was the right way to behave on this date.  
  
“So… how is your Pepsi?” John asks awkwardly and hopes that Sherlock thinks that it’s at least a little bit funny.  
But Sherlock doesn’t laugh, doesn’t even smirk. He just raises an eyebrow.  
“John, you don’t have to do this.”  
“I know”, John says quietly and stares at the table. “But I want to.”  
“You do?” Sherlock sounds surprised.  
“Yes.”   
When John finally looks up he catches Sherlock’s look. And now Sherlock smiles.  
  
It doesn’t get less awkward after that, or less complicated. There’s still much silence between them, and John still doesn’t know what to do or to say, but somehow they manage.  
And somehow it turns out to be quite a nice evening.  
When they go home afterwards, sauntering along the dark streets of London, Sherlock links arms with John as if it’s natural, as if they would do that every day.  
John feels strange at first, can’t help to notice how people start staring at them, but then he sees the pleased, almost  _happy_  look on Sherlock’s face and he calms down.  
  
At the door of 221B Baker Street Sherlock pauses, but he doesn’t open the door although John knows that Sherlock has the keys to the apartment in the pocket of his coat.  
Instead Sherlock turns to John and looks him right in the eyes.  
“I had a really nice time tonight, John”, he says with a smile and John is not sure if Sherlock means it or if he’s just mocking him.  
Anyway. “I had a nice time, too”, John replies honestly.  
And then he waits for Sherlock to open the door, because it’s damn freezing out there on the street. But Sherlock doesn’t move. Doesn’t even blink.  
  
Instead he says: “This is the moment where you’re supposed to kiss me, John.”  
 _Oh._  
John swallows. Suddenly his mouth feels dry. “Am I?”  
Sherlock nods and closes his eyes.  
And damn him if this isn’t the most beautiful thing that John Watson has ever seen.  
He carefully slides his hand up on Sherlock’s chest and right in the moment when he reaches his neck John feels Sherlock’s hand over his heart.  
There is no way he could deny now how much he wants this kiss because, cheesy as it sounds, his heart is racing in his chest and he is absolutely sure that Sherlock can feel it beneath his fingertips.  
And the certainty of this is all John needs to close the last inches between them and kiss Sherlock.  
  
And oh, quite a kiss it is.  
At first John is worried if Sherlock will even kiss back.  
But then Sherlock pulls him close, his hand suddenly not on his chest anymore but in his hair, and sucks John’s lower lip in as if his life depends on it.  
The kiss is long and messy and when they finally part, John is panting and just a tiny bit shivering. “That was… wow”, is all he can gasp even after a few moments.  
Sherlock smirks. “It’s been a long time for me. I have a lot to catch up on…”  
  
And then they kiss a second time, and a third and a fourth, before John is able to say:   
“Excuse me, but I think you forgot your sociopathy at the restaurant.”  
John can’t tell for sure if Sherlock blushes, but it sure as hell looks like it in the dim light of the street lamp. “Shut up”, Sherlock murmurs, and after that something that sounds very much like “It’s your fault”.  
  
John doesn’t care.  
He also doesn’t care about the talk at the police station from Anderson and Donovan, and he surely doesn’t give a rat’s ass about Mycroft’s mocking phrases.  
What John does care about is Sherlock, having sex with Sherlock, solving crimes with Sherlock, risking his life an exorbitantly high count of times with Sherlock and mostly anything else that has to do with that man.  
He also cares a lot about the unmindful moments of the day when Sherlock forgets that he means to be a sociopath and when he’s simply  _nice_.   
As in shopping for groceries or massaging John’s back or turning the lights out in the bedroom when John wants to sleep, even when Sherlock wanted to read or something. Or even saying something funny instead of something mean.  
  
Their life hasn’t changed much.  
They share a bed now, yes.   
But they’re still arguing about human extremities in the fridge.  
John still thinks that Sherlock can be an overbearing douche when he solves a crime no one else could solve.  
Sherlock still thinks that John can be very stupid when it comes to more than obvious occurrences at a crime scene.  
But they’re alright.  
They’re doing fine.  
And if somebody asked, John would say he’s happy.  
It’s the little things that matter.


End file.
